r 







THE 



VISION OF JUDGMENT 



REVIVED. 















-*: V>--: 









1 


THE 

VISION OF JUDGMENT 

REVIVED. %^ 


M^ 



7^ \^^'° 



Entorod according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by Clarence F. Cohu. in the office of the 
Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



Prefacr", 10th paragraph, for "confidant" read confidante. 
Page 7, 2d cohiuin, 3il verse, for — 

" To our Poet till now. Oh! I wonder," 
Head- 
To our Poet till now, oh ! I wonder. 
Page S, 2d column, 2d ^erse, for 'kept" read keep. 
Page 8, 2d column, 6th verse, for " strife " read stripe. 
Page 9, 2d c(dumn, 6th verse, for "endeavors" read endeavor. 
P;ige 11, 1st column, 6th verse, last line, for "were" read was. 
Page 16, 2d cjlumn, 1st verse, for "nay" read then. 
Page 16, 2d column, 6th verse, for 'your" read my. 

Note — Page 16, 1st column, 3d verse: Not the best grammar in the world, but the 
reader must leave us a little margin for the "license." 






S^ 



^ 



i^"^ 



IPE-EIPJVOB. 



This rough rhyme was written to be read heforo a literary society of tliis city; then to bo destroyod. It 
was writteu very hastily. The wiiter's financial status was (and is) such that he had but few books of his own 
to refer to — an old battered copy of Byron and Scott's History of Napoleon being his entire stocli. All who 
have ever written can bear him witness that it is exceedingly embarrassing, even in writing anything so com- . 
mon-place as this rh_\Tne, to be unable to refer to a grammar, a dictionary, an encyclopaedia, and the various 
works which may bear ou the subject or sentiments in hand. 

Many may think that the lady who is the butt of the rhyme, having been torn to pieces by the great 
majority of the papers of the day for her outrageous article, should now be permitted to dwindle into her own 
nothingness and die. 

My old aunt had a favorite canary, and a favorite cat, who ate the canary one day. The old lady, in a 
rage, with a broom-stick, broke the feline's back, and left her in agony in the wood-shed: but a humane gentle- 
man, seeing the misery of the canary-eating, broken-backed cat, cut otf her head. 

Some (I fear most all) will think the language of the rhyme is at times inelegant; and so it is; but would 
it not look strange to see a scavenger working in filth with his liands shod with Jouvin's kids? 

Byron was morally a bad man ; but from the days of Homer down to these of Tennyson. Meredith, Long- 
fellow, Whittier, Lowell, Holmes, and last, though not least, the hairy-throated warbler who pipes a note about 
"Lilac Time," he was one of the greatest, if not the greatest Poet. 

He married : he and his wife disagreed ; they parted ; he plunged into every kind of vice, and died prema- 
turely. Miss Milbanke knew, ere she accepted the man, that he was a drunkaid and a libertine. She knew that 
his friends had advised him to marry to assist reformation. Enoiviag all this, she consented to marry, not Noel 
Byron, but the author of "Cliilde Harold." 

Nine tenths of tlie fa.shionable young men of that day were morally of Byron's stripe, aping the vicious 
habits of the Prince; and after they wedded, it was part of the wife's melancholy duties to reform the husband. 
Many were thus reformed. If a woman is wedded to a good man — good. If to a bad man, and she reforms him 
— better It would be interesting to see an unengaged woman who could not love a perfect man. 

We know Byron's generous nature. Reasoning from such knowledge, we cannot but think that, had his 
wife clung to him with the tenacity of love, she would in time have reformed him. Her silence for years when 
his assailants were driving him to desperation, instead of stilling tlie matter, kept it ever boiling. 

She could have at any time proved his adultery, and, under the wliolesome English law, have obtained a 
divorce from him. But did she? No. No one could li ive l>ei'n prouder than she of being even the neglected 
and abiised wife of the Poetical wonder of the centuiy — aye, of all centui;ies. 

It seems strange that a lady of her social standing slioalil have gone o\it of her sphere to make a confi- 
dant of an adventuress; and we have got to see sound, solid proofs ere we wiU believe tliat .slie did. 

If (as Stowe says) Lady Bj-ron believed her husband was inclined to insanity, what a Iiorrible thing it is 
to think of a wife, "for better or worse, in sickness and health." trumpeting to the world the evil deeds of a 
dead husband who, when living, was afflicted with the most terrible scourge in Pandora's box — in.sanity. 

I humbly and .sincerely tiust that my object in this rhyme will be understood by all who deign to read it. 
I despi.se and loatlie Byron's piivate character: but I admire his poetry. I h;in>ile Mrs. Stowe without gloves, 
which may Iciok ungalhuit : were she a ra.an, my nttack would have been even more severe. Argument has 
been wasted: I l;ave herein tried what Satire will do. 

BBOC. 

Washlngtox, D. C, .Tuly 31, 1870. 



THE 



VISION OF JUDGMENT REVIVED; 

IN TWO CANTOS. 



CJ^JSTTO 1. 



T :im no poet, but T once coiiltl rhyme; 

1 »niinfr my school-days I conhl, on jiiiper, 
Put words to jingle well in tune, and time, 

Bnt the sentiment was a mere vapor, 
."Which could hardly he seeji in verse or line — 

I oft' ran tinjrers by niidniuht taper. 
And T stiived after iian,i;ht, bnt whilst inditiuK, 
My air-castles rose: I thought 'twas <;<)od writing'. 

My co])y of r.yniii 1 always read. 

Kacli si)are moment at school or vacation, 
I'litil my young, gi'een, iuid admiring head. 

Was always ready with a (juotation. 
Which cultivated sloth, and perhaps led 

Me to the classes foot, sans lotation, 

p And I think it was the general admission 

That I did not e'en excel in com])osition. 

In tlie course of time I ])assed from the school 

And entered Newton University; 
I'.ut then the war, which caused study to cool, 

Drew me in f'oi- Imdc or adversity ; 
And I enlisted for a shooting tool: 

The more I tliink of it the woi'se I see 
The vexed questi<m. I went fnU of jiatriotism. 
And returned in tliree years full of rheumatism. 

My knowledge of books, theoretical, 
I was robbed of, but I learned much of men: 
I, Though my studies were all dropped, yet I call 
i Mem'ries of the war back whene'er I can. 

And thank luck my morals ne'er met a fall, 
I Though tempted by camp vices there ami then : 
' Which news the home skejitic may receive with a sneer, 
I But 'tis true, and truth 'tis said has no cause for fear. 

I served as a Private thi'ee years to a day ; 

Thro' seventeen battles I passed ^vithout harm; 
And skirmishes num'rous, which, by the way. 

Are far more dang'rous still; losing an arm; 
A limb, or a life, in battle array. 

Is glorious compared to the lack of charm 
In being stealthily shot in a picket tight — 
To die where you tumble, without a foe in sight. 



1 liad a wish in war — an odd notion : 
For preferment ? No; again and again 

'Twas olfered, but I declined promotion. 
For release from ser\-ice, then ? No ; whilst men 

Came ripe for the cause, I wished a portion 
Of glory, too. Whatwas't? I'll tell you, then; 

I wi.shed to die, like Lochiel, in hot action — 

^ly shoes to tin; foe — my broadest attraction. 

I hail a comicniiiin in field ;ind camp. 
Which 1 lugged o'er many a weary mOe; 

And with a candle for a study lamp, 
Under canvas I would happily while 

Away the dull hours; 'though my bed was damp, 
And dangers surrounded, I still could smile 

At them all, and pour over rhyme upon i-hynie, 

As i'ast si)ed the hours ; but what to me was time. 

Cain — the Vision of Judgment — Don Juan — 
^Manfred — Beppo — the Pris'ner of Chillon— 

The Siege of Corinth — the faster you ran 
Tour eye o'er his pages, rolling still on 

The vast wealth of .song flowed. Tell me who can 
Unloose Ms shoe latchets ? or who will on 

His glorious Muse dare raise a critic's feeble pen — 

To be swamjied in gross folly and laughed at by men. 

His faults were great and glaring, but his Muse 
I'roved him the master Poet of liis day — 

Crown him Laiu-eate ! Well could he refuse 
What's gotten by favor — too oft' by pay — 

He who could let his wond'rous fancy loose, 
Either in satire, scorn, or lover's lay, 

And all men wond'ringly gazing, \rith pure dehght. 

Grow dumb in admiration of his Muse's flight. 

Read l>ut liis verse; scan ev'ry balanced line ; 

Mark the true turning of each rounded thought ; 
See the sentiment plain, yet touched so fine. 

That it thrills like a faint harpstring when caught 
By woman's Ught finger ; then dropped in time 

For the soft note to tremble into naught; 
Tlien gh)wing o'er with beautiful description ; 
Tet in Westminster he has no inscription. 



'Tis well 'tis so. Etcli Ms name on the stone 
Within the walls of that historic tonih, 

And soon 'twould gleam in solitude— alone ! 
All others would fade in modesty's gloom, 

■WTiilst his forever in true grandeur shone, 
All o'er the world, from out his narrow room : 

And millions gazing into the silent vaults, 

Would admire his genius, and forget his faults. 

I can't like his moi'als — neither can Stowe ; 

But if I saw the Kohinoor glisten 
On a dung-hill's heap, would I not bend low 

To clutch the prize ? or would I not listen 
To a soft, sweet strain from cat's guts and how? 

If the scraper were low, shoiild I hiss him ? 
Still I must admit 'tis hard to comprehend, 
Why, despising his faults, you still love your friend. 

If Stowe had been born beneath India's sun, 
And had been taught to do as women there 

Do, could we now blame her if she had gone 
To the banks of the Ganges with her heir, 

And tossed the babe into the river dun — 

(Or both, if she had been blessed with a pair?) 

A dainty light meal for a huge crocodile — 

Would she think, by that, she was sinning the while ? 

If a boy raised and bred at the Five Points, 

To pick a pocket or to crack a head. 
Or to dance with minstrels with supple joints. 

Or to carry a billy tilled with lead, 
And to cnil liis soap locks, which he annoints 

With far more care than his stomach is fed: 
Could that boy make a morality teacher, 
Or till Plymouth church like Henry Ward Beecher ? 

If he did turn Preacher, oh ! God forbid 
That he should e'er unite in matrimony. 

Whilst the husband to the Tomb's cell is li-d, 
The seduced and the seducer for money; 

Then ask God's blessing on each sinner's head, 
Sugared o'er with words all flowing like honey; 

Thanking, in earnest prayer, that his sinful brother, 

And the wrong'd wife, were as they were to each other. 

Away, false teacher, drop the Holy Kood ! 

If one of your num'rous congregation 
Should err, promiited by love or passion, would 

Ton not bellow it forth to the nation ? 
Look on yourself.— turn to your Bible — could 

Tou but once drop an egot's inflation. 
Fairly read the good book, and there too plainly see 
You've committed adult'ry for a marriage fee. 



If a negro born on Africa's coast 
Takes to eating, with a vim, his man-pie ; 

Has a hundred wives and children a host ; 
Still it would ill become me to stand by, 

And talk of his soul which is being lost. 
I'd rather not uitrude on his land; I 

Would conclude 'twas the fault of liis savage nation 

That has gone before, and his wild education. 

We must all, then, come to the conclusion 
That man, a creature of circumstances, 

Is apt in fids world to meet delusion ; 
As he must take Ms good or bad chances. 

Please mind: I don't tMnk conscience's a fusion 
Of nonsense : no, I Uke her sharj) lances ; 

But would tliere be so much sin amongst men, 

If our nature could choose its origin? 

Must we always condemn our brother man 
AVlio, surrounded by sin, is but sinning I 

Over the scarlet spots, oh ! tell me, can 
We not spread the mantle ; and thus winning 

Our way to the heart, endeavor to fan 
Conscience into a glow ; and thus spinning 

A web, strong as steel, to waft us above. 

By Charity's aid, into reahns of love ? 

Our good Poet, when he first left college. 
Plunged headlong into London society ; 

He had some reputation for knowledge ; 
His purse was filled e'en to satiety. 

He was hand.some and young; just of an age 
To catch maid's eye ; had some notoriety 

For wilting verses — a recommendation 

In old England then, a lit'rary nation. 

At that time aU the young lords like BjTon 

Led, as he said, a "devil of a life;" 
Wliich tlissipatiou caused each to try on 

Two or thiee mistres.ses besides a wife ; 
And 'mongst them all there were none to fie on 

Bad, immoral tricks, causing fam'ly strife. 
But perhaps morals would not have stooped so low 
If you had flourished at that time, Mrs. Stowe. 

Why should we then wonder at Bvi'on's fall, 
Eucom]>assed with sin and dire temptations 

As he was? Why should we not rather call 
On wonder if he did not ? The nation's 

Pet at roUing Poetry's graceful ball 
Was spoiled by the too constant laudations. 

Turn to your hist'ry, madam, warlike and civil-^ 

Was he the only man thus sent to the de^'il? 



Ho fell : But oue thiug we may say in triitli, 
He ue'er atteniiitetl to shield his dark sin, 

Either in the hot love-days of his youth 
Or when tliii'ty-six years shone on his pen. 

But I pray you reader, tell me, in sooth, 

Who has not sinned, or who wont sin again ? 

He stands: let the earth's multitude pass one by one, 

And he who is pure and guiltless cast the first stone. 

He died as he lived — a sacrilice great. 

The continent mourned ; so did Ids own isle 
At losing the treasure, and even hate. 

Which he ever met with satire's broad snule, 
Turned to sorrow, and hmig a heavy weight 

On all who could well appreciate, while 
The broad ripple of sorrow passed o'ei' the main. 
And was then caught up by the New World again. 

In \iewing a diamond fron\ India's mine 

What care I who lifted it from its bed, 
So the i)ure jewel will brilliantly shine. 

And thiow from iinger, a neck or a head, 
Beauteous sparks-in many a dazzling line ? 

Our language was the mine, ami Byron led 
The life of a miner ; and if he was filthy, 
AVith rare Jewels is not his song bright and wealthy ? 

His verse is full of iumioralities : 
In admitting his sins you see I'm frank. 

Tor, by moral's strict technicalities, 
I can't explain them away : yet I'd thank 

< )ur gossiping She (a foul gal it is) 

To stop raking from out the garliage rank. 

The nastiest tale that e'er sullied a page, 

To shock the readers of tliis enlightened age. 

Out woman ! Must you thus forget your sex, 
And spit this venom for ten cents a line, 

Then gloss it over with the faint pi'etext 
Of haxiug justice done? Fore'er you'll shine, 

Easily found by mem'ry's clear index. 
As one who first wallowed in the thick slime 

Of fam'ly quarrels ; and 'though you kept on the fence, 

For gold's sake iu)W you thus ^'iolate confidence. 

Go not again to the fair southern land, 
Or, if you will, I pray, journey by lail ; 

Venture not on Atlantic's bosom and 

The Gulf Stream's curious tide, for fear you'd ail 

From sea-.sickness : so, whilst your brow was fanned 
By salt breezes, you'd retch, and scarcely fail 

To spew your bile into the sea, and the spiinkle 

Would sicken our good world by the sj)reading wrmkle 



Shun tlie sunny South — cling to the cold iSTorth — 
Ke'er place your polhiting foot on the shore 

Of bright Florida ; for her florid worth 
Would moulder to ashes — rot to the core — 

Tuin to sterilty her beauteous earth — 
Plunge her into dense gloom forevermore; 

And with shame her licli fruit would all blush scarlet 

In the presence of a lit'rary harlot. 

Float not on the bosom of her river — 
Rest not beneath the shade of her fair grove — 

Breathe not her balmy air, (thus forever 
Pois'ning it) — list not to her cooing dove — 

Eat not her golden fruit, if your liver 
Does need such 'ministering — never love 

Man again ; but down, down to hell, and there forge 

Anew your black lies, and on dark scandals gorge. 

If it had ])leased God to have granted life 

To our Poet till now. Oh ! I wonder 
If he'd answer this cat's-paw of liis wife, 

And rattle at her his Muse's thunder? 
Or would he iu)t stoop to such a cheap strife 

For a dime a line — lit 'rary plunder ; 
Or would he launch something on her lep'rous head, 
Like '■ born in the garret — in the kitchen bred?" 

Shepenn'd "Uncle Tom's Cabin;" then penn'd "Dred;" 

The first succeeded; the last a failure; 
She then threatened to punch poor Jewett's head, 

For not paying more for the first tale. You're 
Assured this is all true, because Tin led 

To believe my friend, young Mr. Tayleure. 
Further proof I have, for Jewett tells me so. 
And his good word further than her oath will go. 

I believe she's wi'itten for magazine. 
But not enough for the woild to know her ; 

Sufficient to keep her writing machine 

From rusting ; but this last stuff did lower 

Her in our estimation ; 'though she's queen 
Of diction, in the light of her brother — 

The doubly renown'd Di\nne, Henry Ward Beeclier, 

Mentioned above as the other fam'ly feature. 

Did you think, Mrs. Stowe, wliilst inditing 
This sland'rous stuff, 'tho' oui' Poet's dead and gone, 

That some one, who is given to writing. 
Would Uft pen in his cause, 'though it look'd forlorn ? 

Ko ; if you had so thought, without 'lighting. 
Tour indecent flight you'd have continued on. 

And scanned your chances, like a lit'rary crow, 

To pounce on unwatched carrion Ijang below. 



Peiliai)s you'll say tlie lady was attacked, 

And 'twas your duty to vindicate her ; 
So, when you found her good name being blacked, 

You deemed 'twas time for you to relate her 
Story, as 'twas told you, as a fixed fact ! 

I pray that He above — the Creator — 
Ma J' dissolve this globe — turn broad day iuto uight, 
'Ere equity reads, "two -wiongs can make (me right." 

" The ambitious youth who fired the Ephcsian dome,'" 
So sang the young assassin, John Wilkes Booth : 

He paid the dread ijenalty — is now dead and gone ; 
But it occurs to us that the rash youth 

Sinn'd far less than you ; because you eagerly from 
A piejudieed party received as truth, 

A vile story from heated imagination, 

And joyfully joined iu the infatuation. 

Then taking care to 'wait till the still grave 
Had closed o'er the Lady, Lord, aud Sister, 

Not till then, tricky .slanderess, you gave 
Mouth to it. Did not your furred tongue blister 

To feel 'twas then wagging as gossip's slave? 
Or must you be fi-eed by such a clyster ? 

Booth sent a good man to Peace : then wept the Nation : 

Tou robbed your dead Sister of her reputation. 

And did you egotistically think 

The great public would gulp the story down, 
"Without pausing, before taking the drink. 

To inquire if 'twas true ? or that the town. 
En masse, would lift j^ou o'er fame's dang'rous brink 

To niche seciue, without a doubting tiown 
From a single, skeptical disbeliever, 
Thej' being the givers, you the receiver ? 

No! Far from such an unjust decision, 
The Public all joined in one e.iruest cry : 

" Why hold th" Sister up to derision. 
The finger of scorn, and the loathing eye ? 

Bring the proof, woman, drawn with precision ; 
Cross not your breast, nor stand thus idly by ; 

In great fear and trembling stand not thus aloof; 

Away with your ' Vindicarion :' we want proof!" 

It can't be believed that your narrow mind 
Supposed, e'en within itself, it could qTiench 

The influence of his writings on mankind : 
The more you stir it the greater the stench ! 

Down, down to your grave, but you've left behind 
The nastiest slander e'er gossiped by wench : 

"Down to the dust ; and as th(ra rott'st away. 

E'en worms shall perish on thy pois'nous clay." 



It appears to you that his writings cause 
Our youth to all forget their good breeding-; 

To run far away from moral's sound laws. 
And plunge into gross sin without heeding 

Ad\ice; and gloat their eyes aud wag their jaws, 
Over our good Poet's lines, exceeding 

All his fellows in his wonderful description ; 

To preveut which your woik is the great prescrijjtion. 

If his bad Muse has such an efiect on you. 
Why should you then risk perusing his page? 

If your virtue's like wax, kept it bright and new; 
Away from his fire — save it for old age ; 

But let us hope that such frail women are few 
Compared to the number ; but I'll engage 

None of your quack nostrums ; gorge them all yourself, 

K that's the way you drown youi- passions' bad elf. 

Let our youtli all read our Pf)et's great song ; 

We'll risk the bad effect on their morals; 
Let them admire his Muse's flight so strong, 

Aud graceful withal. His fam'lj- quarrels 
Have been too severe, and have been too long ; 

But they have passed, and now the bright laurels 
Hang all grandly about his ))oetic fame. 
If his private life did bear the mark of fhame. 

Suppose, Mrs. Stowe, this old, rehashed tale 
Were true : why should you now reheaise it? 

Tou listened only to the widow's wad, 
Aud dropped in suggestions foul to nurse it. 

Then, after she died, you sold at retail 
The confidence placed in you. Ear worse it 

Seems to us than any paper of this age ; 

But you fobbed your good fee for it, I'll engage. 

Ev'ry fam'ly has a skeleton heir, 

Stowed away in closet oi' garret dim ; 
But how would it read to creep up the stair, 

Aud .stand face to face with the dry bones, grim 
And mouldy with years, siurounded with air 

Dami) and heavy; then make it wag its chin 
Aud tell its old hist'ry of ciime, wrong, and woe 
Aud then publish for gold, my dear Mrs. Stowe? 

The slander is told and .scattered broadcast. 
O'er all the breadth of oui- good coiuitry's bounds; 

May we not hope that t'will remain the last 
Of your i)roductions ? And that the fieire hounds 

Of your stiife, who hotlj' follow so fast 
This dirty trail, thro' Scandal's dark grounds, 

!May rest content o'er your loathsome narration 

Whilst you're crowned 'heroiue of thelast sensation." 



i 



•I'm ill 



iiHTi' b(i.\ ill years; su let me iiHk 

ill' woijian has not ^one to the altar 
To aasnnie the good wife's difflcult task, 

Aiul strap on tialit the cojinnbial halter; 
Knowing full well that she can never bask 
In husband's love, yet she does not falter. 
For all time in this life, to ehanne her condition — 
Not for love she bears, but for a big position? 

Good Lady Byron, we trust, is in heaven ; 

From our Poet .she snfi'ered ninch on earth ; 
But before her fair hand to him was given. 

Did she not know what his morals were worth? 
Or was she into the life compact di-iven ? 

He pro])Osed to her twice ; siiiely no dearth 
Of time intervened ei'e .she said yea or nay ; 
Then she jiromised to Love, Honor, and Obey. 

The papers say Dickens from his good wife 
Has parted : then there's another nut for 

Tou to crack. AVhy not meddle with that strife, 
And prove to the vvoild that the rigid law 

Of Morality should idunge its .sharp knife 
Thro' his wicked neck ? but before you claw 

The horrid snitject with so nioch ado, 

We'll put a few .simple questions to yon. 



vsuppose you should prove him all in the wrong; 
' Prove hiiu of bad mind and wicked habit : 
I ove hiin ('though he's most sixty he's still strong) 

As given to letdi'ry as a buck rabbit ; 

•ove him rev'ling in dark sin, vile and long; 

Prove him catching Innocence to stab it: 

ove him, in short, a diabolical fellow ; 
Wouldn't we .still laugh at Pickwick and Sam Wellei 



Shakspeare was not happy with his good spouse : 
No wonder, as she was eight years older 

Than he. What would tend more to keep a house 
In a row than that? 'though, as a scolder, 

She did not excel : as still as a mouse, 
Johnson hints she was. If he'd spoken bolder 

On the subject, we'd know more of it, of course ; 

But he don't express the opinion with force. 

Perhaps, nay, very likely, the dramatist 
Treated his elder, his wife, very badly. 

Well, suppose he did ; could we e'en then desist 
From iierusing his work ? or would we sadly 

Brush from oui' eyes the rising, pitying mist, 
And close the wise volume ? Would we not gladly 

Drink in his words, forgetting the fact or libel. 

Knowing the book was only next to our Bible ? 

3 



Milton married thrice; his wife number one 
He parted from. Suppose he did — what then? 

Perhaps he abused her; some have e'en gone 
To much pains to prove tliat he did; but men 

Still place on his brow the laurels he won. 
As they have always done, and will again. 

And you may bet your life that for all future time, 

The very word ' jyiiltonic " will still mean sublime. 

Shelley, you'll grant, with true genius did burn. 
But he believed not in the maniage vow. 

What matters that? Will that prompt us to turn 
From his work in disgust ' No ! we'd e'en bow 

In sorrow o'er his ashes in the urn, 
And weave laui'el for his poetic brow — 

If we could not subscribe to all of "Queeu Mab," 

About his private morals we would not blab. 

Didst ever .see Keau — I mean Eduiuud the great? 

(I ne'er did, he died ere I was tinished.) 
What wond'ious expression of Fear, Love, or Hate, 

He could assume at will. Undiminished 
Still his good tame is: but I have heard of late, 

That his niiual character was blemished. 
What matters that? Away vile detractor: 
Condemn the man — I admire the ictor. 

Old Booth, you'll say, was always drunk or crazy, 
And treated his first wife outrageously — 

Was given to flesh and, off the boards, lazy; 
But he handled his text courageou.sly, 

And had such mastery over his face he 
Looked like a fiend incarnate — graciously 

You'll admit that? Yes. Well, that's all I want, 

Without being sickened by Moral's cant. 

And since he died in eighteen fifty-three, 
A Tragic Actor his not trod our boards; 

Vandenhoff, Davenport, Wallack, and the 
Host of others, (I must handle my words 

Carefully to make them ihj-nie here, or be 
Condemned by the critics,) only affords 

An opportunity to squ.arely say 

That our Tragic stage ^t the present day 

Is just nowhere. The Booths, Forrest. Murdoch, 
Neil Warner— bat there ! Why should I name them \ 

Perhaps ynu may like them, and I may shock 
Yon, if my Muse endeavors to shame them; 

But I miLst mention just one ere I lock 
This MS. in form ; Fvn weak to lame them 

All — go and see Dillon, well supported, in Lear, 

And for once you'll forget the critic's heartless sneer. 



10 



111 Comedy we're good — of which we're pioud : 
Brougham, Owens, Jefferson, John S. Clarke, 

"We'll gather together — a merry crowd 
Of laughing sprites; and 'though yoiu' life looks dark, 

Tou'll forget it all, and laugh long and loud. 
Unless hope is extinguished — every spark. 

Another name we have : I'll just tack it 

To this verse— Jack Falstaft— Mr. Haekett. 

John Owens : I recollect him so well 

In Baltimore not many years ago ; 
But since then he has clambered up the lull, 

Aud now can comjjlacently look below 
On the profesvsiou ; ever ready still 

To lend a hand or a dollar or two. 
You've succeeded, John, and have money in bank — 
You've travelled, John— tell us all about Mt. Blanc. 

And, you son of Comus, you well deserve 

Your success. When you returned from Europe 

"With your panorama, (did you preserve 
It till now ?) we had just placed a new rope 

On the old drop-curtain, and a broad curve, 
A rainbow, in water colors, Dulope 

Had just retouched, on it. Do you recollect, 

John ? It has faded from your mind, I exjiect* 

And we welcomed you with a little dinner 
At Guy's ; and you made us a little speech, 

And told us all about your trip, you sinner ; 
How you scrambled up Mt. Blanc, like a leech 

Crawling o'er a huge lump of ice. Whose been there 
Since whom you, John, could not thoroughly teach 

To weave what thej- saw into a good story, 

To narrate when returned— and that's the glory ' 

And fun of all trav'ling. You told us h,.w 
You slid down long hills on your old slouch hat. 

Clear from the tops, covered with endless snow. 
Into the valleys, stretching a dead Hat ; 

And, 'though all this occurred some years ago. 
You told it so comically and "pat," 

That it seems to have transpired but yesterday— 

But "time was, time is, time's past," the head did say 

And I recollect well, too, Joe Jefterson 
In Schnapps, with Briggs as Sir Kupert and Mis. 

Phillips as the Queen. We thought ere we'd begun 
That engagement that Jefferson's distresses 

Would carry him to his grave ere we had run 
It twenty-five nights. His bad cough and retches 

Were sad to listen to ; but he's over that. 

And now is looking well and even quite fat. 



For which God be iiraised ! I'm doubly sincere 
In this expres.sion, for we know full well 

That we could not fill his place ; so he's dear 
To us. I admire his genius, and speU 

Bound liave watched his acting until the tear 
Would sparkle brightly on my shirt-front's frill, 

Till 'twould ghsten keener than the gem I wore — 

One was mere carbon, the other my heart's core. 

"All the world's a stage," (vide Shakspeare,) 
"And all the men and women merely players;" 

And yet does it not seem more than queer 

(•' Tis passing strange," I fain would say, but there' 

The rhyme to make) that naught but a sneer 
Greets an Actor, notwithstanding his cares, 

From a certain large class called "Puritanical?" 

Than whom hell itself is not more tyrannical. 

AH the woild is a stage, but oh ! how few stars ! 

Throw your eye back on hist'ry and count them ; 
Strain it into the depths of the past as far's 

It can reach ; go to the steps and mount them 
Into the Temple of Fame ; shake off your bars 

Of prejudice ; see their fame aiouud them : 
Count them all, and you may find a large number; 
But oh ! how many millions of "Supes" .slumber 



All unknown? And perhaps 'tis well 'tis so; 

If the bell sliould tinkle, and the curtain 
Rise aud disclose a theatrical sliow — 

Evry actor a Richard, as certain 
01' success as Ed. Kean — why who would go 

To see it ? I believe Billy Burton 
Would laugh at this versi> — call it allegoiical ; 
Perhaps it is ; but is it not liistoi ical ? 

Byron, a star of the first magnitude. 
Died for Greece — ergo, he (Ued for mankind. 

I, in my own small self, more than once stood. 
As a Private, where the fierce action's wind 

Was strewn thick with death, and the brave and goi 
Plunged into the hell of battle to find 

A soldiers death and immortality — 

Without romance — 'twas all reality. 

I've fought and seen my companions shattered 
By cruel shot, sinking, with a low moan, j 

Into a shapeless mass, torn and battered I 

Out of all resemblance ; and the stay-at-home 

Birds in our rear industriously chattered 

" Glory !" but the maimed replied with a groan : 

Have seen enough to know that the death rattles 

Take "Glory" from A'ictory's bloody battles. 



11 



I've nursed in liospltal raaing fevers ; 

I've frozen on picket anil starved in eamps — 
Have seen tlie i>aymasters with tlie levers 

That must move all armies — we called them Stamjis : 
Have heard the foul oaths of disbelievers — 

Wild, wicked young fellows, but daring scamps ; 
And succeeded well in keeping from the vices 
Of camps ; but was not so lucky with the lice-s ! 

I could eat my rations and play at blutf — 
Could keep my acccmtrements in order, 

x\nd whilst on vidette was quite sharp enough 
To hide from any rebel marauder — 

In short, I may say I was "up to snulf." 
Exce])ting when I was on the border 

Of the 'sacred soil.'' When the magazine 

Blew up at Fort Lyon, I was between 

Heaven and earth awhile — nearer, I maj' say. 

The former than I ever expect to 
Be again. I thought the " devil was to pay " 

For an instant; and when I returned, you 
Woidd not have known me: I know not the waj' 

I escaped — a miracle; but I do 
Know I returned to earth yelling loUder 
Than did the rejiort of the gunpowder. 

If tliere's a sjx'cial Providence in tbe fall 

Of the little bird we call a sparrow. 
Why then my escape was no wonder at all : 

It cnuld not, in fact, be called a narrow 
One. 1 alighted with a most graceful sjn-awl 

In the yielding nuid, which I did harrow. 
Providence ! I'd liave cracked my bones and sjiilled my 
If I had not hai>pcned to alight in the mud. [bhiod, 

I've marched under the burning southern sun — 

Have i)oliced camps and been detailed as cook — 
Have seen malingering practised by some 

Who dared not on the lively "Johnnies" look. 
And swear by all that the day had now ctmie, 

When their names should be ])laced on the sick book. 
And slyly sidle otf; but not from fear- 
But under a pressure, the diarrhea. 

I've been detailed, too, to bury the dead. 
And have been oftentimes detached to guard 

Prisoners ; and I have likewise bravely led 
" Masterly retreats,'' where all soldiers cared 

Only for number one : we were oft' fed 
By such false bulletins. The Generals shared 

In the "(rlory " of such "masterly retreat," 

Which were known by soldiers to be a defeat. 



I have helped to throw up fortifications, 
And, like the wild Bedouins, have folded tents, 

And cre])t away without notifications 
To the surrounding foe ; have stolen fence 

Rails to boil my coffee. Jollifications 
We oftentimes had in camp, of course ; -hence 

.\ soldier's may be called a .jolly life, 

xVlthough he is mixed up in murd'rous strife. 

I have lived and fattened on " horse " and " hard tack,' 
Have seen brave Mars more fond of she-niggers 

Tlian they were of scenting the enemy's track, 
And palling at him the hostile triggers — 

Ha\e often read when we were forced to fall back 
The lying bulletin's lying figures ; 

And have seen many a newspaper's cub lick 

The Commander's boots for news for the public. 

And tliix is Glory without its polLsh! 

Oh! Alexander. Ctesar, Bonaparte — 
I'itch in, my brave cut-throats, and demolish 

Towns, cities, countrie-< ; but I have no heai't 
To try it again. When things look squallish 

Hereafter, I will try the doctor's art. 
And get an exemption — be as deaf as a log: 
I've had quite enough, I thank you, and I'm no hog. 

But that is but one side of the picture: 
We fought for the Union, and saved it too! 

The foregoing, being a i)layful stricture. 
Must not be read in earnest, e'en by you 

Who'll hate these verses. A little lecture 
Like that may be out of place here, although 

Most men, when they don any uniform, 

Turn to devils, 'though they were saints at home. 

We savfed the Republic, and subdued the 

Most gigantic; rebellion kno\vn to all 
Hist'ry; and now the starry flag is free 

To wave from the cabin or proudest hall, 
As tlu! glorious banner of liberty: 

AUliough the philo.soi)her once did call 
It a "shroud for the slave" and a "flaunting lie;" 
And so 'twas ; but, thank God, that day has gone by. 

Soldiers of the Union army ! oh, list 
To me, and follow to the burial ground 

Where sleep our dead comrades in endless rest. 
Only marked by the bead-board, and green mound 

Inclosing each martial, but now stilled, breast ; 
And as you all sadly gather around 

A more carefully placed and conspicuous gTave, 

Wherein fast moulders to dust some fallen brave; 



12 



And we talk of bis deeds and his biaveiy ; 

Perfectly fearless in all kinds of danger ; 
How he rattled down the Gods of Sla\ery, 

And how he shared his rations with the stranger ; 
How he gazed at death without a quiver ; he 

Never attempted to get out of range, or 
Thought of anything hut his stern, iron duty, 
And that alone, without an idea of booty. 

And whilst o'er the gxave of the beljiless dead 
We bend, a "trumpeter" should mount a stand. 

And open the aperture in his head. 
And bellow forth, so 'twoidd reach o'er the laud, 



That the brave had often wallowed in bed 

With his sister — will not each of our band 
Rush with our " ten weapons" on the tattling wretcl 
Who eudt-avors to pro\'e his sister a b hi 

Byron was one of us. He died for what 
We fought — for Mankind ! foi- Libertj', and yet 

His enemies in Europe stiU hold that 
He only wished to imitate Lafayette ! 

Without giving such idea the he flat, 

^\'e"ll say he was sincere in helping the (ireek ; 

And 'though he died ere he obtained what he sought, 

He nevertheless died for what we all fought ! 



O^^ItTTO 2. 



Tou say with crossed hands and eyes npUfted 
That the case now lies 'twixt yon and your God: 

Must we tlien h^ave the story unsifted 
And 'gainst all evidence helieve your word ? 

No! We'll clutch the dark veil and uidift it. 
And let both sides of the story be heard ; 

And since you've shown yourself all reeking with gaU 

And money getting, we wont hear you at all. 

'Twas midnight: I heard the regular tramp 
Of the faithful watchman on hi.s dull round, 

And across the wide street the city lamp 
Shed its too feeble ray o'er the wet ground. 

1 closed the window to escape the damp. 
And then fell to musing long and profound : 

I drojiped my pen so weary — I slept — then did dieam, 

In which a truly beautiful vision was seen. 

Methought I difd — was coffined and buried, 
And my .sonl shook itself free from this clay; 

And upward, though mighty space, 'twas hurried 
Through a bright path of everlasting day ; 

And I gazed around in my flight; for hid 
From me was nothing on that beauteous way: 

Through trackless space I span, trembling with fear, 

To Judgment's seat, with a case none too clear. 

When first I started, our grand mother Earth 
AVas enveloped in darkne.ss; but quite soon 

The sun shone brightly, gleainiug from God's hearth, 
And blazed with all the broad .splender of noon ; 

Then it faded away as the great birth 
Of other solar systems began to loom 

On my stupefied gaze, and around rolled 

Beautifu^l worlds, with their numbers untold. 

I would near a planet with wond'rou.s speed, 
And 'twould grow and spread in its dimensions; 

Then I'd .spin past it, and soon 'twcmld be hid 
By other worlds of greater pretensions. 

Onward and upward my ru.shing flight led. 
Through forests of wot Ids, as Milton mentions ; 

And ever and anon I would meet a new world. 

Fresh from the Maker's hand, as into space 'twas hurl'd. 



Space surrounded ! Oh ! such a wond'rous space ! 

No East, no West, no South, no North, no bounds; 
Yet I viewed in all in that endless race. 

Down, Atheist I look about you, and your grounds 
Of argument crumble. Oh ! slant your f ice 

To Heav'n — the Firmament ! how it abounds 
With His vast creations ; then pause and wonder 
That He crushes you not with His wrath's thunder. 

He who deigned to breathe life into mankind, 
And gave the creature a crowning glory — 

A soul — a part of His being — a mind — 
A conscience — to keep him from acts gory 

With sin, and follow its pro?nptings, and find 
His way to pure Peace, as intended ; He 

Who causes the vast worlds to endlessly roll. 

Rejoices in the saving of one poor soul. 

Oh, Atheist ! with your reasons scientific, 

Why deny the existence of your God ? 
But as I am not very prolific 

In argument, I point you to His Word, 
And beg you to read and ponder; if it 

Convinces not, then let reason be heard ; 
And whene'er your nature tempts you to sin, 
List to the still small voice speaking within. 

There's a man, not a thousand miles from here — 
A real paragon of learning, they say — 

Has been known to go to the shore, and there 
Gather curious shells, in barrels, all day. 

He was well learned in Europe, and we fear 
He argues so well we'll yield to his sway ; 

And so astonishingly great his knowledge is 

That he professes in one of our colleges. 

He can take a rib of some extinct fish, 
And tell from what long lost species it came: 

He can take a sea-shell, formed like a dish, 
And from it make a trump to blow his fame 

To the world: and he has but one deep wish. 
That is, for all men to forget God's name ; 

And he opes his wise eyes with a deeply learned glance, 

And tries to convince us that all things came by chance ! 



14 



Oh ! wonderful Chance, to have made the world— 
Ita mountains, its oceans, valleys and hills — 

Never let this savant's banner be furled : 

'Tis Chance that gives life, and 'tis Chance that kills ; 

'Tis Chance that causes planets to be hurled 
Into space about us ; 'Tis Chance that wills 

All things ! If he begets it, may Chance come to pass 

That, instead of a child, he'll siie a long-eared ass. 

If a man disbelieves God by learning 

So much, he'd far better remain a fool: 
Let him drop his studies, and cease burning 

His midnight oil, and keep his judgment cool 
By fair exercise, ajad think his turning 

Point in life was when he viewed Nature's school: 
Show me a deep student, all wise and dyspeptic, 
And I'll go no further to shov^ you a skeptic. 

"A little learning is a dang'rous thing;" 

So sang the forgotten poetic dwarf. 
He wanted you to gulp down the whole spring, 

"Without awaiting to gTadually quaff 
From Wisdom's deep cup, (perhaps /may bring 

A sentiment in here to cause a Inugh,) 
A little learning is far better than none — 
To gain big prizes small ones must first be won. 

A little learning is a dang'rous thing? 

Tell me who it is that disbelieves God ? 
Is't the savage man — the wild Indian king? 

Is't he who's too ignorant to read His Word ? 
Is't the African o'er his parched spiing? 

Is't the Esquimaux, who has never heard 
Of the Almighty's wond'rous plan of salvation 1 
Is't not the pampered scholar of civ'lized nation ? 

I think Pope's sentiment is quite muddy : 

Ton must be a fool or a Solomon ; 
It strikes at the very root of study ; 

But I won't abuse him ; he's dead and gone : 
His mind was fair, though dwarfed was his body ; 

His mistress forsook him and he, forlorn, 
Wandered alone, proud, diseased, and in grief. 
Till death came to the little man's relief. 

It really seems to be the general bane 
Of all who get fame or gold by writing, 

To make some error by signing their name 
To some production, by merely 'lighting 

On the surface, without again and again 
WeU studying the subject, and fighting 

'Gainst prejudices to get at stubborn things [kings. 

Called Pacts ; let's crown them ; thej' are hist'ry's true 



Sir Walter did well in his tales and rhyme — 
Pope did well till he touched Billy Shakspeare, 

(And others I'd mention if I had time 
To brush up my old readings, which, I fear, 

Have dwindled away to a point so fine, 
That they are nearly forgotten ; howe'er 

I will read more hereafter, and amends 

I'll thus make with my books, the best of friends.) 

But if Sir Walter Scott had lived till now. 
And could read his hist'ry of the Emp'ror; 

With deep shame and chagrin would he not bow 
His head on his breast? or would his temper 

And prejudice still influence him ? or how '; 

Would he feel if his valet he'd send for i 

The latest gazette, and from it the first glance \ 

Would show him Napoleon still ruling in France ? 

Abbott did well, but yet he did poorly— i 

I mean to say he over-did; but stiU I 

His hist'ry is better than Scott's, for surely 
Platt'ry is more truthfid than Hate ; I will 

Tell you how to get at the facts purely. 
In Napoleon's case, if you've time to kill; 

Read both hist'ries. (I mean one at a time,) 

And when you're through, strike your di^ddiug line. 

In my youthful way I've often wondered 
Why some honest historian of our day 

Don't follow where Scott and Abbott blundered, 
And treat Napoleon in an lionest way. 

I know that several Frenchmen thundered 

His deeds to the world ; but I think 'twould pay 

For Motley to take his good pen in hand, 

And give us a liist'ry to grace oui- land. 

God bless Motley ! He is a reg'lar brick- 
Clear-headed, sans prejudice, digging truth 

Out of old records, whereon dust lies thick, 
And giving us his labors for our youth 

To study, and for our older heads to "Stick" 
(Vide Sumner) o'er ev'ry line, and loth 

To lay down the volume till reaching the end : 

He who pens a good work is Solitude's friend. 

Prescott I blind Prescott I whose poor sightless eyes 

Gazed farther, clearer into ages past 
Than others blessed with vision ; the archives, 

Ancient and musty, all had to at last 
Yield to his search ; and on facts he relies 

To draw his sketch, whilst he never would cast 
A single shade in to deepen the mj'st'ry, 
Or make a god of a man : he wrote hist'ry. 



15 



He's gone to his reward. Perhaps a tear 
Dropped to his mem'ry, whilst it is still green, 

May not be out of place ; and yet, I fear. 
That 'twill be shed in silence, and not seen 

By the busy world ; and yet 'tis sincere ; 
Then o'er his grave let us silently lean, 

And for once forget all life, hope, and gladness. 

And mingle with his dust the tear of sadness. 

Student untiring, ripe scholar, and good man, 
Accept this briny token of our soiTow, 

So crj'stal clear, sparkling bright; and yet it can 
Be no purer than our grief Could we borrow 

"Woman's melting eyes, and her spirit to fan 
Grief into loud lamentations, we'd harrow 

Tip all the surroundings of your quiet tomb, 

But as rough men we can but silently mourn. 

Your works live not in monuments of brass ; 

Nor bright gilded urn ; nor proud cenotaph ; 
Nor massive tomb inviting all who pass 

To stay their stejis and read the epitaph; 
Nor title's bauble, to be handed down as 

Generations come and gO; but you did quaff 
Deep of the spring, and now, on oui' libraries' shelves. 
They stand as classical as the classics themselves. 

Let us throw oui' fancy across the mam 
To our mother-land, the gem of the sea, 

England ! Heaven bless her again and again ; 
We are justly, doubly proud to know that we 

Sprang from such stock ; and we hope that no stain 
Will e'er blot her escutcheon, and that she 

May always look kindly on her stalwart sou. 

Quite a hundred years old — our hist'ry 's begun. 

Cai-lyle — the less said of him the better — 

Prejudice — prejudice — all prejudice ; 
But he labored, .scratched many a letter 

To write the work ; and though he fed you this 
Stuff for hist'ry, let's loosen the fetter 

Of judgment severe; on his head we wish 
The laurels to cling foi- the work he has done — 
Worthily labored for and gallantly won. 

He outabbotted Abbot in his work 

On Fred'rick, who long since was dubbed ' 'the Great;" 
But then he labored like a very Turk 

To get the fact.s — scribbled early and late ; 
And in giving facts ne'er wishes to shirk. 

A line can't be penned without showing hate 
Or love of the writer; but 'twould be better 
If they'd drop all that ere penning a letter. 



Macaulay : fair, honest king of diction, 
Flowing as free as his own judgment's thought: 

We honor his work, stranger than fiction, 
As facts always are ; a copy unbought 

Lay in ueighb'ring shop tiU last election 
Into my trashy purse some money brought. 

Which I di\aded, and for a " square meal" one half 

Went, the other bought his woi'k, second hand, in calf. 

Now, this new nation, the United States, 

/*■ behind its dam in lit'rary matters ; 
But we're struggling upwards, and, if the Fates 

Will assist, we hope all our men of letteis 
Will drop all foibles, dislikes, and strong hates. 

And turn to old England to find their betters 
In all walks of lit'rature, and thus improve 
Our current works, if their profession the3'^ love. 

The Waverleys we've read with admiration ; 

Our Cooper never attempted to compare 
With them, (poor Cooper was spoiled by laudation, 

Received in Europe, when he visited there — 
Returning then to Democratic nation 

With his foreign ways and a Frenchified air — 
" A tiavelled fool," we all bitterly dubbed him — 
Our children laugh'd at, and our wise men snubb'd him.) 

Dicken.s — the modern wonder in his line — 
Wilkie Collins, Reade, and many others ; 

Thackeray, now dead, with his humor so fine, 
And a host of other noy'list brothers — 

We cannot match here at the present time, 
Unless we mention the jirince of lovers. 

Whose plots are the same, who is paid by the job — 

The poor, ink-slinging jackass, Sylvanus Cobb. 

Mr.s, Browning and then Mrs. Norton 
We adiuiie, as we do Miss Hannah Moore, 

And others of tile soft sex, whose ftu'tune 
Threw their hjt.s outside our limits; all o'er 

Their fame we rejoice, as we should, nor suou 
Can we expect to equal them ; this door 

Of comparison we'll close, but first mention 

Southworth, 'though .she's not worth any attention. 

Turn to poets : Tennyson, Laureate, 
We can't touch; nor you, author of "Lucille;" 

And we will not attempt it, for we hate 
Comparisons odious, yet still we feel 

We should weave in a few lines for the pate 
That composed "Evangeline;" true as steel 

His sentiment is ; and one line for the Quaker, 

'Tho', excepting in " bnow-bound,'' he but spoils paper. 



16 



But in hist'ry ! ah I '• that's jvist where we live ;" 
Blind Prescott dead, and Motlej' still living, 

"We'll hold up to view ; and by such means strive 
(Though we must admit 'tis up-hill strix-ing) 

To ask oui- good mother England to give 
(And she's too liberal to torn fiom giving 

When true merit's in the case) us due credit for 

These good historians, as ev'ry fail' editor 

Must admit they are. 'But T must return 
To my vision. Many millions of miles 

From earth, as I now am, I must needs burn 
With true genius (?) to bend t'wards earth witli smiles 

And chat about those who strived and did learn 
Ere I was brought into this world of wiles ; 

And to stop and gossip about them in this lace 

Is mancBuv'iing, I'm too sure, a good way from base. 

So on I span. Then a thought struck my mind: 
Whence came I — how came I — where goeth ? 

Then a soft answer echoed from behind : 
"Thou must soon reap e'en as thou soweth.' 

A just sentence, thought I, but will I find 
Mercy from Him who all things knoweth? 

"Tour body from earth returned to the sod, 

And your soul from God returns to its God," 

Was the answer. I murmured a short prayer 
'Midst stupendous surroundings, and my flight 

Stayed not its progress ; I felt drawing near 
Me a strange influence : " He who doeth right ; 

He who shaped in His hand each passing sphere ; 
He who rules justly, and with endless might: 

He who launched this poor soul into wotld of woe, 

Oh ! have mercy on it where'er it may go. 

"He who sowed chaos with worlds without luimber : 
He who lighted His lamps and hung tlu-m where 

They awakened old djrkuess from her skimbcn-. 
And whirled the worlds with their life-giving air, 

Thro' their amazing rounds: naught can encumlier 
His wond'rous works. All trembling with just fear 

I feel my littleness ; yet one grain of sifted 

Sand is part of the vast globe from whence 'twas lifted. 

" He who deigned to step from yon high heaven, 
And with bones unbroken hung on the tree : 

But with bleeding side all torn and riven, 
He sprinkled His blood on Mt. Cahary : 

He from whom all perfect gifts are given, 
Will e'en turn in pity and smile on me : 

He who made and ttxed this endless, boundless space. 

Through which millions of planets tumble and chase. 



"Could have fllled it so full of His creations 
That l)right Saturn could no longer proudly gleam j 

Her golden rings : nay, the God of all nations. 
Of men and worlds, could His creative eye beam 

Down fiom His Almighty Throne, and the stations 
Of worlds would all tend to one grand centre (see^ 

By no human eye) and knead them all into one 

Stupendous sphere, and spin it thro' its course whe^ 

[done.^ 

"Nay, further: could have swelled thatgi'eat sphere's 
Rotundity, till space would be no more; [vast 

Then that awful space He could again cast 
Into farther proportions than before : 

And when 'twould exijand, the new sphere, at last, 
Would go its huge rounds, aiul from shore to shore 

Of that newly created sjjace would be so wide, 

That the new world would be unseen as it would glide 

"On its mission ! Oh! twards such a being 

My soul is drawing. Pity it, oh, God ! 
Crush not the worm thou 'mighty, All-Seeing, 

Wond'rous Creator ! Oh ! list to it. Lord ! 
'Though from sin the body was ne'er fleeing, 

Drop on the soul but one merciful word : 
Admit it above with the heavenly host. 
Great Father, suflering Son, and Holy Ghost !" 



I ceased ; and a lake of celestial fire 
Shone aroiuid ; and then a melodious strain 

Of sweet music floated down from heaven's choir, 
And echoed through space again and again : 

But on my plunging race went : higher and higher 
My soul continued to mount. Without stain 

Expanse shone above in ethereal blue, 

Richer in color than crimson's soft hue. 

And then there burst upon my wond'ring sight 
HC'iven, with its portals extensive and vast; 

And a sun beamed above it, shedding light 
On aU its surroundings; and then it cast 

Bright beams down, down, down into endless night. 
To guide poor souls into this haven at last : 

Above each wide entrance I did behold 

"Peace," traced by God's hand in letters of gold. 

Whilst floating around in the ambient air 
On noiseless wing, all clad in raiments white, 

AU-favored Seraphim, num'rous and fair 
To look upon, were bathing in the light ! 

"Oh, truly," I murnuired to myself, "here 
Is heaven, indeed ! Would I had done aright 

In the flesh ! Useless wish — that is all past ; 

Tour flight is o'er, and Judgment's here at last!" 



1 



17 



jL cannot describe Jerusalem new — 

"Peace'' tells the whole story — unless you turn 
To the Good Book, and then run your eye through 

Its blessed pages. Chapter twenty-one 
Of Revelation holds it up to view, 

As penned by Inspiration: there you'll learn, 
Past all jnst doubts, as 'tis told by the Serii>tnre, 
The length, breadth, and appearance of heav'u's .sfruc 

[ture. 
K'ear one of the twelve gates there was a stir 

And strange commotion among the twelve guards : 
And other angels, through the ambient air, 

Flocked to the spot ; (I wish I had a bard's 
Pino diction to describe what I saw there ; 

I'm clumsj' at .shuffling poetry's cards ; 
" I've half a notion to tumble to prose. 
But verse is more in fashion — so here goes.") 

The angels, as I've said, all docked around 
The gate, as I drew near and gazed ; and lo ! 

Just outside, raised a little on a mound. 
Sat, all gloomy and silent, Mrs. Stowe, 

With her green eyes fixed on the golden ground, 
Woud'ring how 'twas she did'nt go below: 

Amongst all the angels she looked .so poor — 

Like a dandelion amongst roses, I'm sure! 

Judgment was all ready: so in she passed, 
And stood before the Makei' on his throne, 

With a confident .smile ; and then she cast 
Her eyes all about her, from floor to dome ; 

Then the Recorder, with quick finger, at la.st 
Found her black page, with a pitiful groan, 

And read it aloud in thunder's deep tones. 

And all the angels then joined in his groans. 

But the madam stood there with a light smile 

Playing about each deceitful feature 
So prominent, and stamjied with awful guile — 

The Creator gazed on by a Beecher ! 
" jSTo shufHing there ;" 'twas all plain ; but e'en while 

The charge was being read, the she-teacher 
Of morality took from under her cloak 
Her "Vindication:" then the silence she broke. 

"/ camo from earth; J was raised in the school 
Tliat condemns all of Immorality's tricks; 

I succeeded, at least, in keeping cool 
Judgment from the good l:uly ; from that bad fix 

J rescued her, and, though man dubb'd me 'fool,' 
/ expect justice hei e, or I'm ' good for nix ;' 

This copy you see /'ve brought to tiiis high station — 

So aU fold your wings, and read my ' Vindication !' " 

5 



Then a murmur so sad humm'd thro' the vast crowd, 
And a sliadow's shade seemed to drop o'er all, 

As there was wafted near her a little cloud, 
Pure as ivory pillar in marble hall ; 

It settled in front of her, and gently bowed 
Its soft whiteness, and then quickly did fall 

The snowy vapor: why does her false heart blister? 

There — there stands the lady and his slander'd sister! 

And the lady spake : " Daughter ot earth, 
Why didst thou thus slander my sinful loid ? 

Fiom the first day of my mortal birth 
Till death took me home, I ne'er .spake a word 

To thee on the subject — never I Dearth 
Must be thy excuses, and just is God: 

Tremble for thy sentence; oh, soon thou'lt hear it — 

See this angel, his sister's 'redeemed spirit!' " 

The .sister, with raiment as pure as snow, 
And brilliant wings out-spread, flew to the Throne, 

To ask mercy for the sordid wretch : low 
Did .she kneel as she touched the golden stone ; 

Could it be granted to the sland'ress? No ! 
Justice only, though aU the angels monrn; 

Justice — justice only to sinners is meted ; 

Without that germ Salvation would be defeated. 

The doom was pronounced, and the foul, lep'rous thing 
Gazed all about her, stupefied with horror; 

Then she rallied somewhat, and threw 'twards the King 
Her eye of hate, determined not to cower ; 

Her teeth she gnash'd not; her hands she did not wring; 
But putl''d with pride she showed no trace of sorrow; 

The sister bowed her head and bitterlj- wept, 

As the poor, hell-doomed sland'ress turned to the left. 

"A change came o'er the spirit of my dream" — 
Mrs. Stowe and I were in sp;ice once more : 

Down, down, down we went without a bright beam 
From sun; all was dark as Plutonian shore ; 

But I followed in her wake; though, if seen 
With her, my muse would die foi-evermore; 

Head over pannier, down, down, dowu she goes, 

With poor me foU'wing her, holding my nose. 

Past the stars we plunged, though they seemed asleep ; 

Then straight thro' the bright tail of a comet; 
Tlien a sickly light shone and I could keep 

With ease on her course, and I l,ept on it ; 
Determined (as I .saw the angel weep) 

To dive with her and see all the fun. It 
Really seemed, though, that her mercurial soul 
Was in needless haste, with hell for its goal. 



18 



We had not falleu long ere just below 
I recoo-nized the world f'lom whence we came, 

Though it seemed a mere foot-ball, aU aglow 
With a flood of light, poured from old Sol's flame, 

Enveloping it ; then it seemed to grow 
Larger and larger ; but our course of shame 

Stayed not its downfall, until we stopped stone still 

And the world seemed to come 'twards us with a will. 

And the madam spake: "My brother traveler" — 
"Don't ' brother' me, madam," I said, " if you please." 

" Why mis'ry," she said, "is a sure leveler" — 
(Just then I smelt brimstone, and began to sneeze) — 

"And you, too, are going tu the devil, or 
I'm greatly mistaken; 'twUl be a tight squeeze 

To force both of us, at the same time, on ' old Nick ' — 

Two such wiiters are enough to turn all hell sick !" 

"Just so," said I. She here cast her eyes down. 
And ahiiost swore she saw a chiu'ch-steeple, 

Which comforted her ; having lost heav'ns crown, 
She could, at least, return to her people. 

And hatch out more lies to hawk around town 
At ten cents a line ; and the aU-needful 

Dollars would flow grandly into her gorged purse — 

Hell-begotten gossiper and Scandal's nurse ! 

I feared a little for myself and felt 

That I, too, a great sin had conuiiitted 
In reading her tilth, and then haviug dwelt 

O'er my desk, and then having transmitted 
My first canto. I had better then knelt 

In prayer to have the She manumitted 
From her tricky pen, sordid soul, and false hejirt, 
(I'm severe, good reader, but just — so don't start.) 

As the earth neared us I really did think. 

(As did the madam,) that we'd laud safely yet: 
So from our gieit height I began to drink 

In the beautiful view. Below us no net 
Of clouds hung; and from the tirmament's brink 

Was showered a rich flood of golden light that 
Enveloped the magnificent spinning ball 
That was nearing us: we did not seem to fall. 

All things on its surface were plainly seen — 
Elvers, rivulets, great mountains, and hills; 

Prairies stretched below us. waving thefi' gTeen ; 
Then as old ocean upward turns, it fills 

The reach of the eye ; but the .silver .sheen 
Hardly flashes to oui- height ere the wheels 

That revolve the vast sphere turn once again, 

And drv land we see instead of the main. 



When the God of Day slowly sinks to rest. 
And the lengthen'd shades on earth's bo.soni stretch; 

As the sea of light is poured from the West, 
O'er mount and valley, o'er hillock and ditch, 

And the cat^kling fowl seeks her roost or nest, 
And sombre twilight slowly steals o'er each 

And ev'rythiug, we'll to tlie top of yon mountain. 

And catch the last drop of light fioin the daj's fountain. 

Oh, glorious oi-b I Oh, giand fountain of light! 

We blame not old tribes for having worshiped thee, 
And ha^■ing thought when clouds caused partial night 

That they had sinn'd and their bright god was angry, 
And kneeling in prayer ere stripping for fight. 

Feeling stronger from such adoration. We 
Do not worship thee, as we're a free thinker. 
But admire thee as miich as did the Inca. 



Thou art the gard'ner of this world of ours — 
Thy tears drop on it in the shape of rain. 

That calls forth the .shoot and bud ; then the flowers 
Will laugh in wild glee when thou once again 

Smilest on it; 'twas thy life-giving powers 
Tliat gave it this form after having lain. 

Without shape, in the deep darkness of night. 

Till thy Creator said : "Let there be light !" 

We stand in mute awe on this dizzy height. 
And gaze with blurred eyes on the molten gold. 

Whilst at our feet the vale is bathed in night. 
That slowly creeps up the mountain so bold. 

And we admire. Steeped in this streaming light, 
With eyes tuined to the West, we do behold 

Thy gradual sinking to rest, after haTOig run 

Thy daily race. Good night, good night, beaming sun 

" The curfew tolls the knell of parting day," 

(So warbled the sweetest poet of all. 
In the pure gem polished in such a way. 

That the luifairest critic could not call 
Into doubt its true prism and dazzling ray,) 

And now, as the twilight does geutlj' fall, 
And darkness steals ajiace, in the East, full soon 
Rolls in solemu grandeur the round silver moon. 



^^ 



19 



' The day's work is over and the good sire, 

Wearied w ith hours of toil, goes to his bed ; 
Tlie mother and little ones 'round the tire, 

Linger in glee, witliont a dozing head 
Amongst them all; and nestling close by her, 

A new babe from the fount of life is fed ; 
They resemble the father in a milder way, 
As bright moonht night looks like the broad glare of 

[day 
Worthy Bride of tlie Snn, as pure and chaste 

As snow, surrounded by myriads of twinkling 
Stai's, lend us thy matronly ear, and haste 

To tell us: Are not the .siiarks that are si)i-inkiiiig 
Yon "majestical roof," but chihlren cast 

Tliere l>y thee and thy lord? Give us an inkling 
Of thy majestical, endless, creative loves; 
Can mammoths love as tenderly as turtle doves? 

A moonlit night ! «bat a theme i'or a muse ! 

From tills mountain top the fields and meadows, 
Gently moistened by heaven's tears — the dew.s — 

Bathed in silver light and softer shadows, 
Stretch out beneath us like dim fairy views : 

Yonder lies the deep glassy lake that owes 
Its keen reflection to the sailing moon, 
And 'neath its .surface to nighingales' tune, 

^^ Her twin sister sails; whilst each little star 
'^ Flashes a bright eye down into tlie diink 
That receives them like rain-drops from a far 

Oil' cloud ; but instead of wrinkles from brink 
To brink, answ'ring the shower, thro' the ambient air 
The gems are flashed back, and the stars all think. 
As they wond'ringly gaze on the dazzling show, 
I That another liiniament is stretched below ! 

The pearly vapor in the jeweled sky. 
Slobbered theie, as told in the old story, 

By the puling infant, seems from on high 
To appear as a night-rainbow glory ; 

But under improved telescopic eye, 
(To make which astronomers all worry) 

The millions of drops in the milky-way 

Turn each to a sun, the star-gazers say. 

A thread of silver adown in the vale — 

A mere rivulet^ — seems in its motion 
To murznur : "'I'm small and weak, but I .shall 

" Be big and strong ere I reach old ocean ; " 
"Whilst on these craggy sides the pine-trees tall 

Bend not to the breeze, as in devotion, 
But stand erect in the scaice moving air, 
On these rugged rocks of all else so bare, 



And seem to whisper in tones soft and low, 
Through the beautiful uight and limpid air ; 

Let us bend the knee and devoutly bow 
The form, and list — the old mount is at prayer! 

Whilst from afar down where the waters go 
The echoes float up and break on the ear, 

As a eat'ract, dancing in the moon's beams, 

Flashes its bright jewels in endless streams. 

The stream whilst gliding down kisses the stones; 

Each eddy seems to have num'rous lovers : 
But the whirlpool where the cataract groans 

beems to be more favored than the others: 
Tis there where the glad laughing water loans 

Its caresses to weave about the brothers, 
A soft mantle of velvet deep and green. 
Which beneath the waters is plainly seen. 

On the rocky bank a weeping willow, 
A perfect picture of old Nature's grace, 

Is seen thro' the moonlight soft and mellow 
Gently caressing the laughing brook's face, 

Whilst the distant hills, like the sea's billow, 
Grandly rise and fall without change of place, 

And from yonder farm the midnight chanticleer 

Crows, but the challenge hai'dly reaches the ear. 

To the chaste moon let's once more cast our eye 
And admire the bright sailing orb, but she 

Likes not the scrutiny, as from the sky 
She catches a fairy cloud, and forms the 

Veil to hide her blush, as it passes by ; 
But then from its soft fringe we plainly .see 

Many a bright little star slyly peep 

At us, as we stand on this dizzy steep. 

But the linirs i-wr\) l)y and the uight wears on, 
And the briy.ht orb slowly sink.s in the west; 

But ere she is hid by the liorizon, 
She sheds her pure light on this mountain crest; 

And just for an instant ere she is gone, 
She kisses the mount as she sinks to rest — 

Kisses the rough brow with a flood of light 

Ere she disappears — a royal "good night!" 

But I'lu wanilring again: some stanzas back, 
(If you'll trouble to count, about seventeen 

YouU find,) I was telling you of the track 
That Mrs. Stowe and I were on between 

Heaven and earth : I do not believe I lack 
Ideas to write on ; howe'er I must lean 

More t'wards my subject; but its being so filthy 

Makes me touch other things to make it Look healthy. 



20 



So then : Down we tumbled with one fell swoop, 
And I'm sure we'd have been crushed on the ground 

Had not the earth gaped open like a loop, 
(That's a sorry simile, but I'm bound 

Not to erase,) and we heard such a whoop 
That caused us to wond'ringly gaze ,around. 

And find that our flight, that hadn't ended well. 

Had landed us in Gahenna, now called heU. 

Jemini ! (that's the worst oath I ever 

Tet swore,) what a doubly hwiible sight ! 
Molten brimstone flowing like a river, 

Throwing its broad glare where all else was night ; 
Whilst on its surface we did discover 

Num'rous ferry boats, dancing in the light, 
Pull'd by grim ferrymen, with green, stretching wings- 
Clever devils perhaps, but odd-looking things. 

In the fiery river an island vast 

■We saw, surmoimted by a huge black dome ; 
On which was fixed a throne. The madam cast 

Her green eye t' wards it : she here felt at home ; 
One of the boatmen beckoned us at last 

To take a ride, and the madam said " Come," 
To me, and I tremblingly obeyed : what a fix 
To be thus paddled over the hot river Styx! 

When we reached the island a monstrous crowd 
Of imps flocked down to the shore to greet us 

With direful welcomes, shouting long and loud. 
Like good devils ; they seemed glad to meet us. 

But the madam, with condescension, bowed ; 
They knew her then and threatened to beat us ; 

Then they ran from us — some into the river sunk ; 

I've seen a pack of hoimds scatter'd thus by a skunk ! 



-J 



So all alone we wended our way to 

Belzebub's throne. He was a quaint looking fish : 
I hav'nt time to describe him to you ; 

But yon may turn to Jack Milton, if you wish, 
(As you may be int'rested in him, too,) 

And read about this being so devilish — 
So huge in body and tall in stature — 
Tailed and split-hoofed and ugly in feature. 

A huge !N'orway pine was his walking stick ; 

The gentlcTnan of old whom David met. 
And cooly punched liis warlike head so quick, 

Was a mere pigmy to this thing, "you bet;" 
As the fumes rolled up from below so thick, 

I just hoped there was not a room to let ; 
But whilst I was thinking about the room. 
He ope'd his fiery maw, and this was our doom : 

" What ho, there ! My ever faithful minions ! 

Seize and bind fast this vile sland'rous woman, 
And carry her, as swift as your pinions 

Will permit, (and, whilst going, let no man 
Touch her scaled body, as our dominions 

Are foul enough noV, that is, if you can 
Prevent,) to the deepest pit and blackest rock — 
Manacle her with Muhlbach and Paul de Kock I" 



He then turned to me with his fiery eyes. 
And I shook like a trembling aspen leaf. 

And gave vent to my fear in sobs and sighs : 
"Ton," said he, "you! you poor lifrary thief: 

Your sins are as thick as green buzzing flies 
In the shambles: Now, list to me in grief; 

Nay, cross not your breast, and beat your frightened 

But ere he said more I awoke with a start, [heart" — 







Vas7mf(/ton, D. C, Jcaruarj' /9, /S70. 



BBOC. 



iV.^.n*?^ °'' CONGRESS 

tl:IHHUit;:|il 

016 115 934 7 



